


Chain Reaction

by lamardeuse



Series: Getting To Know You [6]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:52:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series to accompany Season Two of SGA. Part Six: Trinity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chain Reaction

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: rating refers to overall series rating. Individual parts may carry a lower rating.
> 
> Please see the end notes for an additional warning.

Rodney knew he couldn’t stop grinning, but he didn’t much care.  This was a genuine, solid-gold, jumbo-sized, Nobel-Prize-winning discovery, and he was entitled to grin about it for the next five years if he felt like it.  It might take weeks before they were ready to try a test, but if they pulled this off—who was he kidding, if _he _pulled this off—they’d have the secret to protecting Atlantis, to defeating the Wraith, to stopping the killings, to saving a whole galaxy.  Hell, they’d have the Go’a’uld shaking in their boots within a year.

Forget the Nobel Prize.  He’d have _streets _named after him.  Not to mention his statue in every podunk town in the Pegasus galaxy.

Rodney palmed the door control and strode into his quarters, thoughts traveling at the speed of light, grin fading as he considered the task ahead of him.  He had an hour before the briefing, and he needed to assemble his preliminary data in some semblance of order so that Elizabeth and Caldwell would be salivating to get this project underway.  And on top of everything else, there was a…

Rodney’s mind stalled as he sniffed the air.  What the hell was that _smell_?

Experimentally, he raised an arm and was assaulted by a pungent aroma that resembled whatever hideous Athosian root vegetable that had been the victim of last Wednesday’s casserole.

“So,” Rodney muttered to himself, shrugging out of his jacket.  “Add ‘shower and burn clothes’ to the list of Things To Do.”

“Want me to soap your back?”

Rodney whipped around to see John Sheppard leaning against his doorframe.  Ordinarily, he would have taken a moment to appreciate the Colonel’s unparalleled ability to turn a simple lean into a pornographic act, but he didn’t have time, dammit.

“No, thank you,” Rodney said, in as discouraging a tone as he could manage.  “That’s the last thing I need right now.” 

John raised his eyebrows.  He took a step forward.  The door closed behind him.

“That’s too bad,” John drawled, and if Rodney thought the lean was X-rated, it had nothing on the drawl.  His body started to respond.  He ruthlessly instructed it to stop that immediately.

It didn’t listen.  In fact, it _immediately _got more excited.

He looked up and was pinned by a pair of green eyes; John had crept up on him like a cat, just out of touching range but closing fast.  “W-why is that?” Rodney wobbled.  “Too bad?”

John grinned, and Rodney’s knees turned to water.

“Because it looks like the guy I was looking for isn’t here,” John explained, now standing about six inches away, but still making no move to touch him.  “The guy who was all goofy and enthusiastic a few hours ago like a kid on Christmas morning.” 

Rodney’s head jerked up.  “Goofy?”

John sighed in exaggerated disappointment.  “Instead I’ve got the guy who’s getting all revved up to steamroller everyone into submission.”

“You make me sound like a schizophrenic,” Rodney said tartly.

John raised an eyebrow that seemed to say _If the shoe fits..._

“Thanks a lot,” Rodney said.

“Nah. Let's just say you’re—consistent,” John said easily. He finally touched Rodney, laying a hand at the juncture of Rodney’s neck and shoulder, thumb caressing his skin in slow, gentle swipes.  “You never do anything if you can’t give it two hundred and fifty percent.”

This time it was Rodney’s eyebrows that shot up.  “You’re complimenting my dedication to science?  My commitment to the betterment of humanity?”

John nodded.  “That and your ability to give truly spectacular blow jobs.  And your incredible talent for bitching about—well, everything, come to think of it.”

Rodney thought about getting pissy, checked his watch and decided 1) that it wasn’t worth the effort and 2) that he could probably wing the speech at the briefing, and then reached for John’s hips and put two hundred and fifty percent effort into kissing him.  John countered with his own several hundred percent and an incredibly talented tongue that did a wonderful job of making Rodney forget about statues and streets and any prize but John’s body sprawled naked on his bed.

When John reached for the hem of Rodney’s shirt, Rodney grabbed at his hands.  “Don’t.  I—uh, I really need to clean up.”

John’s eyes darkened, and Rodney’s breath stopped.  Wordlessly, John dislodged Rodney’s hands and resumed his work.  When he had Rodney bare-chested before him, he held Rodney’s arms firmly at his sides and bent his head to lick at a nipple.  Rodney gritted his teeth to keep from crying out.

John worked his way over Rodney’s upper body with his lips and teeth and tongue while Rodney watched, while John laced Rodney’s fingers with his own, binding him, while they stood in the middle of Rodney’s quarters and Rodney shivered and shook and whispered pleas that even he didn’t understand.  He wasn’t used to being the object of this focused, relentless dedication, but God, he thought he could get used to it. 

Then John stuck his nose in one of Rodney’s armpits and inhaled, and Rodney squirmed and laughed.  “Stop it!” he crowed, finally wiggling free of John’s hands. 

“Can’t help it,” John said, deadpan.  “I could never resist the heady scent of sweaty geek.”

Rodney crossed his arms primly in front of his chest.  “I happen to perspire when I’m—” he waved a hand.  “Rewriting the laws of physics.”

John leered at him.  “God, I love it when you talk dirty.”  He made a grab for Rodney, catching him around the middle and pulling him close.

Rodney laughed and half-heartedly fought him off.  “You’re crazy!”

Undeterred, John kissed him soundly.  “Only about certain things.”  Another, gentler kiss.  “And certain people.”

Rodney took a moment to reel from what was the closest thing to a confession he’d ever heard come out of John Sheppard’s mouth. 

And then John started in on Rodney’s pants, and every brilliant thought Rodney had been marshaling up to that point was vaporized in a supernova of lust.

“Maybe I’m not a genius, but the way I figure it,” John drawled as he sank to his knees, “we’ve got fifty-three minutes, in which I theorize there will be plenty of time to blow you, fuck you senseless in the shower, and still show up in time for the briefing.  Hell, I think I’ll even be able to snag you a donut from the mess hall.”

Rodney looked down in time to see his trousers hit the floor. 

“Chocolate glazed?” he panted.

John grinned up at him.  “Sure.”

“You—oh,” Rodney sighed as John’s mouth closed over the head of his cock, “You _are _a genius.”

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

  
It was after two in the morning before he finally banished himself from the lab and stumbled down the hall to his quarters.  They’d be heading out at eleven hundred, and he still had fifty things to do, but he was about to fall asleep on his own feet.  If he didn’t get to bed, he’d be no good in the morning.

He wasn’t really surprised this time when John just happened to round the corner and smile at him as though it wasn’t the middle of the night and he hadn’t stabbed Rodney in the back a few hours ago.

“Hey, Rodney,” he smirked conversationally, as though they’d run into one another by accident, “Can I come in?”

“No,” Rodney said shortly.  “Good night.”

“What the—_Rodney_?” John hissed, when Rodney opened his door and walked inside the darkened apartment.

Rodney sighed when he turned and saw that John had followed him. 

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” John demanded.

“Close the door,” Rodney snapped.  “Caldwell—”

“Fuck Caldwell,” John shot back, though he turned and willed the door closed; it obeyed immediately. 

“Perfect,” Rodney sighed at the pitch blackness. 

“Relax,” John growled.  In the next moment a couple of lights came on, low and soft.  “Now, would you mind telling me—”

“Could we please leave this for a time when I’m not exhausted?”

“No,” John said stubbornly.  “Tell me what’s going on.  Now.”

Rodney stuck out his chin and glared.  “I don’t take kindly to being sabotaged, that’s all.”

“To—”  John trailed off, staring.  “When did I sabotage you?”

“This afternoon?” Rodney retorted, voice rising.  “Does that ring any bells with you?”

“You’re pissed off because you got sex and a donut instead of—”

“No, no, no, no.” Rodney shook his head vehemently.  “Try to follow along.  The _briefing_, for God’s sake.”

John’s eyes flashed.  “That’s the second time you’ve insulted my intelligence today, Rodney.  Once is funny—maybe.  Twice, you're pushing your luck.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Rodney exploded.  “Pardon me if I’m a little short when the person I’m in a _relationship _with decides to arbitrarily deride my work in front of a roomful of people when only half an hour before he was saying how much he liked my enthusiasm.”

“First of all,” John said, voice low and deceptively calm, “this _relationship _does not extend to our professional life.  I have an obligation to use my training—and my intelligence—to help weigh the costs and benefits of any plan of action where peoples’ lives are at stake.  And there is risk involved in this research; not even you can pretend there isn’t.”

Rodney opened his mouth to speak, but John cut him off with a raised hand.  “And second, I like your enthusiasm, more than you know.  But Rodney, some of us have got to be realistic while you waltz around with your head in the clouds.”

Rodney’s heart stuck in his throat.  “Now who’s being insulting?”

“I’m sorry; that wasn’t supposed to be an insult.  It’s amazing that you can look at this thing and see it so clearly.  I’ve taken just enough courses and watched just enough _Nova _to know that yeah, this is really, really big.  And really, really dangerous.”

“The danger,” Rodney gritted, “can be managed.”

“So manage it,” John retorted.  “But don’t bust my balls because you and I aren’t coming at this from the same perspective.”

“I hardly think that your perspective—” Rodney began.

John’s head came up sharply, and while Rodney knew that his understanding of human interaction was limited, even he could figure out what that look meant, and so he very wisely clamped his mouth shut around the remainder of that sentence.

“Never mind,” he said sullenly. 

John nodded tightly.  “Get some rest.”

Rodney opened his mouth and took a step forward, but John had already turned and was on his way out the door.  Before Rodney could think of something to say, he was long gone.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

  
Nine weeks later, Rodney wasn’t any closer to getting caught up on his sleep.  Of course, it didn’t help that every night he dreamed that Collins’ burned, charred body stood up and started walking toward him.  He tried to run, but strong arms held him fast.  When he twisted around to look at his captor, he saw Gaul, blood and brains dripping from the gaping exit wound in his left temple.

He stopped outside the door to Elizabeth’s quarters, suddenly hesitant.  She’d summoned him here instead of to her office, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.  Obviously, John had done as he’d asked and spoken to her, but what was her decision?

Then the door opened, and Elizabeth stood on the other side, arms crossed and face inscrutable.  “Are you coming in or would you like to stand out here a while longer?” she asked archly.

Rodney marched in behind her, trying not to feel like a recalcitrant pupil and failing.  He’d never been in Elizabeth’s quarters, but wasn’t surprised that they were about a thousand times neater than his.  There was a generous seating area with a well-padded couch and chairs, and she motioned him to take a seat.  He sat stiffly, as if waiting for his sentence to be delivered.

“Relax, Rodney,” Elizabeth said.  “John talked to me.”

“And?” Rodney said, leaning forward.

She raised an eyebrow.  “He convinced me he could protect you from yourself.”

Rodney swallowed his outrage.  “Well.  That’s—very kind of him.”  He rubbed his hands together.  “So, I’m thinking a reduced crew this time—Zelenka and me and a couple of the senior—”

He trailed off when she shook her head.  “You’ll have to make do with John.”

Rodney gaped.  “Just—”

“That’s right.  It was his suggestion, to minimize the risk to others.”  She speared him with a look.  “The only thing I’m worried about is whether you’re minimizing the risk for _him_.”

Rodney met her gaze.  “I wouldn’t have spoken to him about it if I didn’t think it was safe.”

“For God’s sake, Rodney, don’t be a fool,” she snapped.  “And don’t take me for one.  There’s nothing _safe _about this.  And in case I’m not being completely clear, let me tell you this:  I don’t like that you saw fit to use your relationship with John to get around me.”

Rodney had nothing, absolutely nothing to say.  He opened his mouth but no sound came out. 

Elizabeth soon filled the gap.  “And let me make it equally clear that it’s none of my business what the nature of that relationship is.  All I can ask—as a friend to both of you—is that you try your best to appreciate the gift John has just given you.  He’s delivered his trust and his life into your hands, and I hope for both your sakes that you can bring them both back intact.”

Rodney finally managed to produce sound.  “Are you saying I’m not worthy of his trust?  Or yours?”

Elizabeth sighed.  “The fact that your first thought is of yourself doesn’t instill me with confidence.”  She rose to her feet.  “Good luck, Rodney.”

Rodney practically bolted from the room, his heart feeling as though someone were squeezing it in a fist.

That night when he dreamed about Collins, the man holding him back was John, and his hands on Rodney’s arms were blistered and seared.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

  
Rodney had his head stuck in an access panel in the north grounding station when he heard a muffled voice call out, “Paging Doctor McKay!”

Predictably, when he tried to extract his head from the hole quickly, he misjudged the distance and whacked the top of his skull on the metal edge.  “What,” he snapped, prodding the rapidly bruising spot as he twisted around, “is there something wrong with the comm sys—”

He trailed off when he caught sight of John standing over him with a smirk and a tray full of food.  As the hazel eyes took him in, the smirk faded.

_Yes, I know I look like hell, thank you very much_, Rodney thought, though for a change the words remained unsaid.  In contrast, John looked as good as he had eleven days ago, which was the last time Rodney had spent more than a few furtive seconds glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Recovering a portion of his affable mask, John proffered the tray.  “You missed lunch.”

“I know,” Rodney answered.  “I brought two powerbars with me.”

“Have you eaten them?”

Rodney’s mind drew a blank.  He patted his pockets, found two rectangular lumps.  “Not yet.”

“Well, then.”  John squatted down and placed the tray on the ground beside Rodney like an offering to a wounded and skittish animal.  “Bon appetit.”

“Thank you,” Rodney murmured, eyes riveted to the tray.  It was the fancy meatloaf he liked; there was still steam rising from it.  There was also an extra helping of dessert.  Rodney’s throat suddenly felt tight. 

He waited a few moments for John to leave, but he could still see his khaki-clad knee at the edge of his vision.  Forcing his gaze upward, he said again, “Thank you.  Really, I—I appreciate it.”

John shook his head and waved a hand at the open panel.  “A technician could’ve done this job, Rodney.  Why don’t you call in one of them and give yourself an afternoon off for once?  You look like you could use one.”

“I’m fine,” Rodney muttered, gaze returning to the tray.

“You’re not fine.  You look like you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.”

“That’s probably because I haven’t,” Rodney heard himself say, instantly mortified at his admission.

“_Rod_ney,” John warned.  “You—”

“Please,” Rodney begged, further mortified when tears of exhaustion and frustration and sharp loss pricked at his tightly closed eyelids.  “Please just let me—”

“Please let you run yourself into the ground?” John asked, voice soft like a lover’s, and oh, God, Rodney couldn’t stand to think of him like that any more.  “Please let you blame yourself—”

“There’s nothing wrong with blaming yourself when you’re the one to blame,” Rodney snapped, opening his eyes and glaring up at John.  “I was the one who destroyed any hope that Collins’ death might mean something.”

John sighed and squatted down again.  “I hate to break this to you, Rodney, but there’s a hell of a lot of meaningless death out there in the universe.  I’ve seen enough of it, and it always makes you want to scream, and cry, and yell at God or fate or whoever the fuck is up there pulling the strings.  But it’s not going to go away because you decide to kill yourself with guilt.”

Rodney shook his head.  “I can’t—can’t stop thinking about him.  Every night I—” _dream I’ve killed you both_, he almost said aloud.

“Let me ask you something:  did Collins’ _life _mean anything?”

Rodney frowned.  “Of course it did.  He was one of the most brilliant physicists of his time.  He’d published work that advanced our understanding of string theory, and the work he did in the time he was here was invaluable.”

“And he had a daughter,” John added.  “Her name is Maggie, and she’s eight.”

“This is supposed to make me feel better?” Rodney demanded, wincing.

“It’s supposed to make you see that he wasn’t just put here to provide fate with another victim, Rodney.  Just the same way that if you, or I, or Teyla, or any of us breaks our necks tomorrow slipping on a banana peel, no one’s going to piss and moan that we didn’t make a contribution.  The way we live is a hell of a lot more important than the way we die.”

Rodney took a deep, steadying breath, then another.  “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he conceded.

“Then I’m glad I could do the thinking this time.”  John made to rise, then stopped himself, eyeing Rodney speculatively.  “Do me a favor?”

“What?” Rodney asked, stifling a yawn.  He was actually drowsy for a change instead of his usual combination of exhausted and enervated.

“Quit thinking for a while and get some sleep?”

Rodney let the yawn escape.  “I think I just might.”

John smiled faintly.  “There you go again.”  And then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Rodney’s forehead, a couple of inches over his left eyebrow. 

An hour later, as Rodney finally drifted off to sleep, he could still feel the memory of that touch branding his skin with a new, hopeful energy.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: reference to character deaths (canon).
> 
> First published August 2005.


End file.
